


Sparks

by Pseudonymoose



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano Friendship, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Asexual Ahsoka Tano, Asexual Anakin Skywalker, Asexual Character, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 22:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudonymoose/pseuds/Pseudonymoose
Summary: Anakin comes to some realisations. The most complicated: he loves Obi-Wan. He wants him.Just not like that.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 42
Kudos: 129
Collections: Asexual Spectrum Sex-Averse Main Characters





	Sparks

Anakin knows how you’re supposed to feel when you like someone in _that_ _way_. There is a spark. That’s what everyone says. A spark. You look at someone, maybe talk to them, maybe just look, and there’s a spark, and you _know_.

Even the Jedi understand sparks. Like every pubescent Padawan before him, Anakin sits through the group lectures with the other Jedi at his stage of maturity. All of them, Human and Pantoran and Rodian and Twi’lek and Chagrian, fidgeting and giggling as they are taught about what goes on _down there_ , and what to expect now that they are growing into adulthood. Things that consenting adults can do together, feelings they might have. Nothing is forbidden—nothing except attachment. They are taught to be cautious. To understand their feelings, to accept them, but not to be ruled by them. _There is no emotion, there is peace; there is no passion, there is serenity_.

The spark is not the danger. The danger is the fire that it can ignite, passionate and consuming; hence, caution. You can feel the spark, act on it, as long as you never let it grow into attachment.

Sparks are fine, they are taught.

Sparks are natural.

In his bed, in the quarters he shares with his Master, Anakin wonders when he will feel a spark. Who it will be. What they will look like. What it will feel like to kiss them.

The idea of kissing sounds pretty gross, but the people in the holovids seem to like doing it.

When he’s older, he thinks, he will feel a spark, and then he will understand.

* * *

He gets older.

Anakin is twelve, and the other Padawans are talking about who is pretty, who is cute, who they fancy, but he has nothing to say. He is thirteen, and they are passing around pictures of that opera singer from Alderaan in a sheer silk gown. She looks amazing, sure, but he can’t understand the fuss. When, at fourteen, he starts getting certain problems that need dealing with, he doesn’t think of her. He doesn’t think of anyone. Just vague acts and touches, anonymous and undefined.

Fifteen. Anakin shoots up in height. He is going to be taller than Obi-Wan, his Master, who detains him after training one day and asks if there is anyone he _has his eye on_.

No. The answer is no; has always been no.

There is no one.

Maybe Obi-Wan senses the worry, the disquiet, that Anakin is only beginning to become aware of himself. Another Master might question his honesty, or praise his devotion to the Code. Not Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan tells him to give it time, that Anakin is still so very young. There will be someone. Anakin will feel that spark, will question _passion_ and _serenity_ , and Obi-Wan will be there if ever he needs guidance.

Anakin does need guidance, but not in that way, and not from Obi-Wan. He knows about his Master’s Padawan days. At Anakin’s age, Obi-Wan had felt the spark. He won’t understand.

Nobody will.

He turns sixteen, and some of the other Padawans are starting to do those things that consenting adults can do, casual and unattached. On a mission with Obi-Wan, a girl tries to proposition him. Anakin wants nothing to do with it. She is nice enough to look at, and nice enough to talk to, but there is no spark. Anakin feels nothing for her. She tries to kiss him, and he backs away, apologising. When she asks if it’s because he is a Jedi, he jumps on the excuse.

 _You’re a Jedi_ , he takes to telling himself. _Serenity, not passion._

He tells himself to be grateful that he hasn’t felt the spark. Other Jedi have to wrestle with their desires to keep to the Code; Anakin does not. He has it easy. He is lucky.

It doesn’t work.

Another mission; another proposition. A boy, this time. A young man. Handsome, certainly. Anakin watches him from afar, with the same admiration he affords to a particularly well-carved statue or a sleek, speedy podracer. This time, Anakin returns the kiss. Maybe the spark is just reluctant; maybe he can force it. The kiss is brief and chaste and… okay. It’s okay.

The boy laughs and breaks it off. What Anakin had thought okay, he thought terrible. It’s not Anakin’s fault, he says. Then he puts a thought into Anakin’s head, an innocent suggestion:

Perhaps Anakin is already in love with someone else.

Is he? Is that what this is, what it has always been? Could that really be the reason that Anakin has never felt the spark?

He thinks about it, over sparring practice, through meditation, during long dark nights when sleep just won’t come.

Padmé. It has to be Padmé. Her face is indistinct in his mind, blurred with time, but he remembers that she was beautiful. An angel, he had called her.

Anakin is in love with Padmé.

He isn’t broken after all.

If there are flaws in this logic, Anakin refuses to see them. This is his explanation, his truth; a great childhood love, a romantic tragedy. For the chances of him ever meeting Padmé again in a galaxy this size are slim to non-existent, so why does it even matter if it’s real?

* * *

Anakin is nineteen, and he and his Master are assigned to protect Senator Amidala.

He is nervous. Obi-Wan notices, and smiles shrewdly. Obi-Wan probably thinks that Anakin still harbours a crush on Padmé, and Anakin is content to let him.

What if he sees her and feels nothing?

They enter the apartment, and there she is.

Padmé Amidala.

An angel.

She’s beautiful. She’s absolutely beautiful, but it’s not enough. There is no spark.

The lie that has sustained him dies.

Padmé is speaking to him, and courtesy dictates that Anakin must respond. He misspeaks, and clumsily saves it with a reference to her undeniable beauty.

Obi-Wan looks at him like he’s an idiot. Like Anakin’s sudden lack of eloquence is due to lust, not loss.

Anakin mourns his fabricated love story, and finally accepts the truth.

He is broken.

* * *

War comes swiftly, and Anakin is no longer a child. He is a Jedi Knight and a General. He is a liar and a murderer. Having been called on once, the dark side hovers at the edge of his consciousness, waiting for the next slip, the next failure. It’s cold, and it tempts him. His men are dying; he could stop that.

Is this why he never felt a spark? Passion is hot; love is warm. Perhaps Anakin was always meant for darkness, and darkness is ice.

He pushes these thoughts away. Sparks have no place on the battlefield, except those that fly from droids as his lightsaber slashes through circuits and metal. It no longer matters that he is broken. Nobody cares, and there are worse wounds. Worse pain.

The Council sends him a Padawan. A _youngling_. Anakin fights for a Republic that sends its children into battle, and for once, this is a decision that he does not feel able to question. One who has slaughtered children in their homes cannot take a moral stance against fighting alongside them for freedom and justice. This, he knows. He hates it anyway.

Ahsoka is so small. So young.

So strong.

She amazes him. Her skills, her endurance, her compassion; her ability to laugh and find hope even in the direst of situations. Ahsoka teaches him as much as Anakin teaches her. For the first time, he realises that he has been lonely. That this is why he has been so desperate to feel a spark with someone.

From Ahsoka, Anakin learns that he has been searching for something, and now he has found it.

Anakin discovers that he doesn’t need romance or sex. He has Ahsoka, his Padawan, his little sister, his friend; and he is not alone.

The darkness withdraws. He is broken, but he doesn’t mind. There is more than one way to be whole.

* * *

Inevitably, Ahsoka turns fifteen, and Anakin’s mind wanders backwards.

They are on another war-torn planet at the end of another hideous battle. Broken droids litter the rocky ground. The clones are scattered, checking for stragglers and shooting any clankers that aren’t quite dead enough.

Anakin walks at Ahsoka’s side, deactivated lightsaber in his hand, and remembers.

“Hey, Snips.”

Ahsoka glances at him, taking care where she puts her feet. “Master?”

This feels awkward. Was it so awkward for Obi-Wan? Does Anakin even need to do this?

Yes, he decides. Obi-Wan brought it up with him at this age, and he wouldn’t have done so if it wasn’t important. Obi-Wan was the best Master Anakin could have wished for. Ahsoka deserves the same.

“So,” he begins. “You’re, um… You’re getting older. Fifteen. It’s a good age.”

What is he doing?

“Sure, Master,” Ahsoka says, giving him one of those looks that mean she knows he’s lost his mind. “What about it?”

“You’re my Padawan,” Anakin says. “And I’m your Master. Which means you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know, Master.” She smiles benevolently. “Where is this going?” The smile turns to a grimace, and she halts. “You’re not going to give me the sex talk, are you? You do know that we get that at the Temple, right?”

Anakin nearly trips over a fallen battle droid. “No! No, I remember. No sex talk.” The notion is mildly horrifying. He gives the droid a good kick, and does not look at his Padawan. “No, I was just wondering if… If there was anyone you had your eye on.”

He thinks that he did a good job of sounding blasé.

Ahsoka bursts out laughing and ruins the illusion.

Anakin turns to her, brow furrowing. “What’s so funny?”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “It’s not—it’s not funny, exactly. Just… I honestly thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

His confusion deepens as she starts to mirror his expression, as if she is suddenly unsure of herself. “Oh. Master, I… Maybe I was wrong. I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“Thought what?”

“That you were like me.”

She looks diminished. Lost. There is sadness in her voice, and Anakin feels awful. He wants to comfort her, to restore her lovely smile, but he can’t unless she tells him what she means.

“Ahsoka.” She looks up from the ground. He puts his flesh hand on her shoulder. “You are like me in a lot of ways. But I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says softly, and Anakin knows then that it does. It really matters.

“Will you explain? Please?” He looks at her earnestly, senses her wavering. “I thought we just agreed that you could talk to me about anything. I want to listen.”

“Alright.” She exhales. “Promise you’ll be nice. Please, Master,” she says to Anakin’s badly masked indignation. “Keep an open mind, and be nice.”

Anakin still wants to protest that he is always nice, but this is not the moment for it. He nods seriously and leads Ahsoka to a mess of upturned crates near the edge of the combat zone. Rex raises an arm in question from across the silent battlefield. Anakin waves back genially—everything is fine.

They sit.

Ahsoka speaks. “I don’t… like people like that.”

Anakin freezes.

“Sexually, I mean,” Ahsoka adds. “Or romantically, I guess.”

He senses her embarrassment, but it’s hardly a blip on his awareness.

“I know I’m only fifteen, and I know you’re going to say that maybe I’m too young to be thinking about this stuff, or that I’ll find someone when I’m older, but it’s not like that.” She scuffs her boot in the dust. “I know who I am. Other people my age are having crushes and things, but I’m not. I saw Master Garox’s Padawan making out with someone in the hallway last time we were at the Temple, and she’s younger than I am. It’s not that I’m not interested exactly, just that… It doesn’t feel right.”

Ahsoka turns her head towards him, but Anakin stares at the horizon. He doesn’t have words.

She carries on. “You know in those romantic holovids, they talk about feeling a spark? When you’re attracted to someone?” Oh, by the _force._ “I don’t feel that spark. I just… don’t.”

She’s like him. She _is_ like him. Ahsoka’s like him.

“What made you…” Anakin coughs. “What made you think I was the same?”

Ahsoka shifts beside him. Perhaps she feels presumptuous, that she’s overstepping the mark. Anakin should reassure her, but he can’t.

 _She’s like him_.

“I guess because I’ve never seen you with anyone,” she says. “Other people, when they see someone they’re attracted to, they get this look. I’ve never seen you do that. I thought maybe you had a thing for Senator Amidala for a while, and you were just really good at hiding it, but it never seemed right. And you didn’t get jealous when she flirted with that other senator right in front of you.” She snorts lightly. “Plus the Countess on our last mission was _definitely_ trying to get you into her private quarters. I don’t think you even noticed.”

“Maybe I’m not into women,” Anakin whispers.

“No, I don’t think that’s it. I mean,” Ahsoka says quickly, “I could be wrong. I shouldn’t be assuming anything. But some of the clones look at you that way. I know other Padawans whose Masters take advantage of that, but not you. Like I said; I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that.”

She leans into his side. “Maybe it was just wishful thinking,” she says, her voice small. “It was nice to think that someone understood. That it wasn’t just me. That I wasn’t broken.”

Anakin doesn’t think. He sweeps her into a hug, holds her tight to his chest.

“You are _not broken_ ,” he says fiercely. “You are perfect.”

Thin arms snake around his back. “I know,” she says, muffled by his robes. “Not the perfect bit—Oh, you know what I mean.” She sighs, and Anakin loosens his grip, letting her pull back enough to look at him. “I know I’m not broken, because neither are you.” Her face falls. “I mean, I thought—”

“You were right,” Anakin tells her, heart in his throat. “I am like you.”

It takes a second to sink in, but then awe replaces discomfort. Ahsoka’s smile returns, huge and bright, and she’s hugging him again to the point that he thinks his ribs might crack.

She’s happy. They are sitting amid the shells of their vanquished enemies, aching with exhaustion and grief for their fallen comrades, but Ahsoka is happy.

Her words loop infinitely through Anakin’s head.

 _I know I’m not broken, because neither are you_.

Ahsoka is like him. She’s like Anakin. Which means that Anakin is like her. And Ahsoka is anything but broken. So, logically…

Anakin can’t be broken either.

_He’s not broken._

Anakin hugs his Padawan, and they both pretend that the other isn’t crying. Ahsoka, tears of joy; Anakin, only relief.

* * *

Anakin has a new outlook on his life. He’s not searching for sparks, not waiting for them, and it has nothing to do with the endless war. Sparks aren’t for him, and he doesn’t need them. There’s nothing wrong with that. And if ever he thinks that he’s missing something, like when Padmé announces a secret engagement, all he has to do is look at Ahsoka to know that it’s okay. He’s fine.

He works closely with Obi-Wan. Their relationship feels different now that Anakin’s a Knight, now that he has a Padawan of his own and understands the responsibility. They talk more, of things that have long gone unsaid. Obi-Wan confesses his reservations about training Anakin, the pressure and the strain of his grief for Qui-Gon. Grief is something that they bond over, something they both know well.

Never has Anakin felt so close to Obi-Wan; to anyone, for that matter. One night on Coruscant, Anakin finds himself outside the door of his old Master’s quarters. Obi-Wan lets him in. They sit down.

Anakin is drunk, and Obi-Wan is kind. Anakin does something that he promised himself he would never do.

He tells Obi-Wan what happened on Tatooine.

In the morning, Anakin can hardly remember the conversation. He does remember crying. He does remember apologising for his failure, vowing that it will never happen again. He does remember Obi-Wan holding him. He remembers forgiveness, forgiveness that he does not deserve but will never relinquish.

The sunlight hurts his eyes. Anakin lies on the sofa in Obi-Wan’s quarters, his head in Obi-Wan’s lap. There is a hand on his side, and fingers tangled loosely in his curls. He can hear Obi-Wan’s steady breathing, smell the scent of him on his robes.

Others might see this as a compromising position. Others might become aroused, feel the stirrings of passion. Not Anakin. In this, the Code is right: no passion, only serenity.

Still—it feels intimate.

Obi-Wan is not like Anakin. Obi-Wan does become aroused.

The moment Anakin feels it, he is gone. He leaves Obi-Wan sleeping and flees to his own quarters.

Something strange has come over him. Something he doesn’t think he can begin to understand. There was no spark, no arousal, no passion—but there was something. There _is_ something. A desire that Anakin does not know how to name.

Something.

* * *

He does not avoid Obi-Wan. Quite the opposite. He remembers the old lesson of caution, and exercises it. He analyses their every interaction, every look and word, and interrogates his responses, his reactions and feelings.

Before a battle, he takes Ahsoka aside. “Obi-Wan’s attracted to me, isn’t he?”

Ahsoka gives him a slow, exaggerated nod. “Well done for working that one out, Master. Gold star.”

Anakin breathes out through his nose. “How late am I to the party?”

“Oh, I don’t know… couple of years?” Ahsoka smirks at him and leans against the hangar wall. “Since I’ve been around at the very least. He can barely keep his eyes off you.” She touches his elbow and her smirk turns into concern. “What are you going to do? How do you feel about it?”

Anakin shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t… feel anything like that for him, but… There’s something.”

“Something?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin says again. It’s embarrassing, talking about this. Talking about this with his _Padawan_. Unfortunately, she’s the only person he trusts who might be able to understand. “I want to be close to him,” he admits, feeling his skin heat up.

“Close how?” Ahsoka asks. “Come on, Master; I’m trying to help you.”

Anakin checks that nobody is in earshot, and elaborates. “I… he held me, and… that was nice.”

This is mortifying.

“Okay.” Ahsoka’s tone is thoughtful. “So, I guess you want him to hold you again?”

“Yes,” Anakin whispers.

“What about… cuddling?”

“Is there a difference?”

Ahsoka gives him a look. “Of course. Do you not watch romance holovids?”

“There is a war on,” Anakin says, not willing to confirm or deny his tastes in media. Ahsoka looks at him expectantly, and he adds, “Yes. Yes to… cuddling.”

“Hand holding?”

“Yes.”

“Sleeping together? Actually sleeping, I mean.”

“Yes,” Anakin says, growing impatient.

“Pet names? Playing with each other’s hair?”

“Yes, and also yes.” If Anakin’s face gets any redder, he thinks he might overheat. The memory of Obi-Wan’s fingers in his hair… “Look, is this—”

“How about kissing?”

This brings Anakin up short.

He has kissed people. It’s okay. Not anything to shout about. Anakin knows himself well enough by now not to think that it might be different with Obi-Wan. Chaste kisses are alright. Anything more ranges from meh to gross, depending on the amount of saliva and what the other person has been eating recently.

“I don’t know,” he says.

Ahsoka nods sagely. “Alright.”

“What do you think I should do?” he asks, skipping over the ridiculousness of asking his equally-inexperienced and clueless Padawan for relationship advice.

“Well, do you want a relationship with him?”

Does he? Great question. Does he want a relationship with Obi-Wan that involves cuddling and hand holding and bed sharing and endearments and fingers in Anakin’s hair? Yes. Kissing? Not so much. Sex? No way in hell.

“I do,” Anakin says slowly, “but on my terms.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I think that’s what most people want. Trouble is, relationships are about compromise. That’s literally the plot of every romance ever.” She takes his hand, squeezes it, then lets go. “You’re going to have to decide how much you’d be okay with compromising, Master. I have no idea what Master Kenobi will want, but…”

But it will probably involve kissing and sex. “Yeah, Snips. I get it.” Anakin claps her on the shoulder and moves to rejoin their men. “Thanks. Sorry for burdening you with all that.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him. “I don’t mind.”

Anakin does mind. She’s his Padawan, not his relationship counsellor. She’s his best friend, but she’s a child. No—Anakin will work this out on his own from here.

* * *

It takes more months, more analysis, more heavy introspection. Eventually, Anakin knows what he wants.

He wants a relationship with Obi-Wan. He wants to hug him close after combat, to hold his hand under tables, to curl up with him in the same narrow bunk. He wants them to have pet names for each other, a secret language to complement their silent battle signals. He wants to lie in Obi-Wan’s arms while Obi-Wan strokes his hair, safe and protected and cared for. He wants touches that are not sexual but are indescribably intimate.

For that, he’s happy to do a bit of kissing. He might even learn to enjoy it. As for sex; they’re Jedi. Anakin has issues with passion on the battlefield—it won’t take much to imply that those issues might carry forward to the bedroom. If he tells Obi-Wan that he wants to be celibate, surely Obi-Wan will understand. Obi-Wan will not want to jeopardise Anakin’s adherence to the Code.

It occurs to Anakin that the things he wants from this hypothetical relationship are precisely the things that he and his cohort of Padawans were warned against. Emotion. Attachment.

But… _there is no emotion, there is peace_. Isn’t it through his feelings for Obi-Wan that Anakin _finds_ peace? Nothing brings him peace after a difficult engagement more than Obi-Wan’s calming presence. And, _there is no passion, there is serenity_. For Anakin, lying that morning in Obi-Wan’s lap, the tendrils of _something_ first nestling into his heart, there had been nothing but serenity.

That leaves attachment.

Ha.

Anakin has always, _always_ been attached. Not just to Obi-Wan, but to Ahsoka, and to Padmé, and even to Rex and to Artoo. The type of relationship, the type of _love_ , doesn’t matter. It’s still love. And Anakin’s greatest failure as a Jedi has always been that he is utterly incapable of separating love from attachment.

There is nothing left to stop him except the sour fear of rejection, and the terror of what could happen if compromise fails and it all goes wrong.

* * *

They do not call Anakin the Hero With No Fear for nothing.

He waits until they are both on Coruscant, an enforced respite between assignments. Their men are on shore leave. Rex and Cody are headed for a bar. Ahsoka is visiting Padmé.

He invites Obi-Wan to his rooms, so that Obi-Wan is free to leave if he wishes. Anakin needs no such exit strategy. He is not afraid. He trusts Obi-Wan more than he trusts himself.

Anakin makes tea for Obi-Wan, caf for himself. They sit side by side on the sofa, Anakin on Obi-Wan’s left. Obi-Wan is closer to the door. They drink, and talk of simple things, and it is at this point that Anakin realises that he has absolutely no idea how to do this.

In a holovid, they would kiss. Anakin isn’t ready for that. And he can’t just say, _I like you_ , or _I’m attracted to you_ , because the second feels like lying and the first is a gross oversimplification. This is hard, and it’s complicated, and Anakin’s frustration with himself mounts.

If he can’t do this, then maybe there is something wrong with him. Maybe he really is broken.

“Anakin, what’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan is looking at him with blatant concern. Anakin’s heart aches.

“It’s nothing,” he lies. “I’m fine.”

Obi-Wan knows him too well for that to work. “There’s something bothering you, Anakin. Tell me.” He puts his cup on the side table and angles his body towards Anakin, his hands clasped in his lap, expectant.

Anakin puts down his cooling caf. This is his chance. His moment. This is where he talks to Obi-Wan, tells him how he feels, and they live happily ever after. Or they don’t.

“I don’t know what to say,” Anakin says. He glances at Obi-Wan, then away. He cannot stop the premature blush colouring his cheeks. He thinks that he probably comes across as a teenager with a crush, which is absolutely _not_ helpful. This is not a crush. Anakin is incapable of having crushes. This is different.

Obi-Wan is silent for a time. “I would appreciate it very much if you tried,” he says gently.

No. No, Anakin can’t find the right words. Obi-Wan is the Negotiator. Anakin has always believed that actions speak louder.

Tentatively, he turns towards Obi-Wan, knees brushing. He takes Obi-Wan’s right hand with his left. It’s warm from holding the tea. Calloused, but still soft.

“Anakin…”

He holds Obi-Wan’s hand tighter. “I like you,” he says after all.

Obi-Wan pulls his thumb free and starts gently rubbing the fleshy base of Anakin’s.

Anakin can hardly breathe. It feels wonderful.

“Anakin, look at me.”

Anakin does so.

Why does Obi-Wan sound sad? Why is there pain in his eyes?

Before Anakin can speak, Obi-Wan says, “Anakin, I know that you don’t like people in that way.”

There is certainty in that statement. Resigned, sorrowful, kind certainty.

How?

“Did Ahsoka tell you?” Anakin asks.

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan frowns. “No. Anakin, I’ve always known. I admit, I did wonder about Padmé, but anyone could tell that that fizzled out before it had even begun.” He is still holding Anakin’s hand, still stroking his thumb. “You were my Padawan, and my dearest friend. I’ve always known.”

“You like me,” Anakin says shakily, and how old is he? Twelve?

Obi-Wan looks down and laughs, a humourless, wet sound. “Anakin, I love you.”

 _I love you_.

There is no feeling like this.

Anakin’s heart could burst. His eyes prickle. His chest feels tight, but in a good way. And Obi-Wan is _still stroking his thumb_.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, unable to make his voice louder. Obi-Wan will hear him.

He does, and his thumb stills. “Anakin, please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” Anakin interjects. “Tell the truth? Because I do love you, Obi-Wan. I do.”

Obi-Wan releases his hand entirely. “Don’t give me hope.”

“What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan gets up, and for one awful moment, Anakin thinks that he’s going to leave. As it is, Obi-Wan only walks a few steps away from him, his back turned. “Anakin, I have loved you for… quite some time.” He’s using his extra diplomatic voice, the one he uses when he’s having a hard time controlling his emotions. “The idea that you would return that, that you would want me, is…”

“The truth.” Anakin stands and rests his gloved hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder blade. “I love you, and I do want you. I want to be with you.” He sucks in a breath, feels Obi-Wan do the same. “I won’t lie to you, there are some things that I don’t want. Some things that I am willing to compromise on.” He steps to the left and forward, adjusting position until he is standing in front of Obi-Wan. “But there are a _lot_ of things that I do want. If you want them,” he adds, confidence suddenly waning. “If you’d be willing to compromise, too.”

Obi-Wan has tears in his eyes. Anakin has never seen him look so vulnerable.

“You want me?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan swallows. “I can compromise.”

Anakin’s heart lifts. It’s a start. Obi-Wan looks like a tiny prey animal in a rancor’s nest, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” Anakin says, steadying himself; steeling himself. “What are you able to compromise on?”

Obi-Wan looks at him as if he’s gone mad, and Anakin’s wonders what he said. “Anakin…” He shakes himself. “It’s not about what I can compromise. It’s about what you want from me.”

“What I want?” Anakin asks, not understanding.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. He looks Anakin right in the eye. “Anything you want, it’s yours. I would give you anything, Anakin.”

“But there must be—You must have a… a baseline, or something,” Anakin says. “Something you would need from our relationship, that you’re not willing to give up.”

“Anakin, do you see me in a relationship?” Obi-Wan asks. “Currently?”

No. No, but that’s not the point.

Obi-Wan smiles at him, that same, sad little smile. “There is nothing I need from a relationship with you. Whatever you are willing to give me, I will take, and be thankful for, because _anything_ is more than what I have. More than what I could expect, or conceive of.”

Anakin wraps him in his arms and hugs him. Obi-Wan talked about expectations; well. Anakin could never have expected this. All those thoughts of compromise, all that mental torture…

Obi-Wan returns the embrace, and although Anakin was never missing anything, now he is complete.

“I don’t know what to ask for,” Anakin says next to Obi-Wan’s ear, even though there are so many things that he knows he wants.

“I have an idea,” Obi-Wan says. He steps back, and Anakin is impressed and relieved to see that he is beginning to compose himself. Hope, and warm affection, colours the force around them. “I could… do something, and you could tell me whether it’s okay or not.”

“That’s a good idea,” Anakin agrees. It’s better than good; it’s perfect. This way, Anakin will know what Obi-Wan wants.

“Am I safe to assume that hugging is okay?” Obi-Wan asks, the welcome hint of a tease in the twitch of his lips.

“Definitely,” Anakin says.

Obi-Wan takes his flesh hand again, not bothering to ask that question. Anakin returns the grip in answer.

“What about this?” Obi-Wan asks. He brings his free hand up to Anakin’s face and caresses his cheek, dragging the pad of his thumb along Anakin’s scar.

Anakin leans into the touch, eyelids fluttering. If Obi-Wan stroking his thumb was wonderful, then this is _amazing_. This is not platonic. This is not something that friends do, or brothers, or a Master and his Padawan.

This is what Anakin wanted.

Obi-Wan hesitates, and Anakin knows what’s coming next. He feels Obi-Wan’s breath on his skin, but the kiss doesn’t come.

Instead, Obi-Wan’s lips brush the side of Anakin’s chin. “This?”

“Yeah,” Anakin murmurs. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

More light kisses, to his cheek, his temple, his forehead; Anakin is leaning down, and Obi-Wan is on his tiptoes. With every kiss, a question, and an answer: yes. Obi-Wan’s beard scratches Anakin’s skin, and it’s far from unpleasant. Anakin wants to raise his own sensitive fingers and touch it, to go further and trace the creases next to Obi-Wan’s eyes, but that would mean letting go of Obi-Wan’s hand.

Finally, Obi-Wan’s lips meet his. Anakin doesn’t react; lets it happen. Obi-Wan’s lips are chapped. It’s not great, but it’s okay.

Obi-Wan pulls back. “Anakin?”

Anakin opens his eyes. “I’m not so fond of the kissing. On the lips, that is. It’s okay, though. I’m just not that into it.”

Obi-Wan gives him a real smile, with no lingering trace of sadness. “Thank you for telling me, Anakin.”

He pulls Anakin by their connected hands back to the sofa and sits, reclining against the arm. Anakin takes the hint and lies down, feet on the cushions, torso curled into Obi-Wan’s, head on his chest. Obi-Wan’s left arm holds him around the waist. Anakin can hear his heart beating beneath his ear.

This is surely the most comfortable, the most content, that he has ever been.

The last few minutes feel like a blur. How did this happen? How did they get to this?

“This is a thing now, right?” Anakin clarifies. “You’re my… what? My boyfriend?”

Obi-Wan scoffs. “I’d prefer partner. If that’s alright with you.”

Partner. That sounds long-term. Serious. “Yeah, that’s fine with me.”

If the force is listening, if it is remotely sentient, then Anakin prays that this will not turn out to be a dream.

Speaking of dreaming, and other things involving a bed:

“There a few more points I think we should discuss,” Anakin says.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says.

Anakin grimaces despite himself. “Sex.”

“I never assumed that that was on the table,” Obi-Wan says, as if it were self-evident.

Anakin relaxes against him. “Good. Because I’m really not comfortable with that.”

“Alright.” Obi-Wan says nothing more. It’s as if they have just decided what to have for breakfast.

Anakin is sure that the issue of sex will raise its head again at a later date, when he is not so high on endorphins. But if Obi-Wan is willing to drop it for now, so is he.

“Next thing,” he says. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for our relationship to be common knowledge.”

“I quite agree,” Obi-Wan says with amusement. “The Council would not be impressed.”

Ah, the Code. It should be more of a surprise to Anakin that Obi-Wan is so willing to reject the Jedi principles. He thinks of Obi-Wan’s face at Anakin’s confession, his plea to not be given hope. Obi-Wan has wanted this, in ways and with intensity that Anakin cannot understand. Perhaps that is justification enough. It’s enough for Anakin.

“So who does get to know?” Anakin muses. “Ahsoka, obviously.”

“Obviously?”

Anakin tries and fails to hide his face in Obi-Wan’s robes. “I… may have asked for her advice when I found out you liked me, and that I liked you back.”

“I see.” Obi-Wan finds this very entertaining, Anakin can tell. Thankfully, he doesn’t linger on it. “I believe that Cody and Rex are to be trusted. Perhaps Padmé?”

“Maybe.” Anakin is less sure of Padmé. He trusts her, but she’s not a soldier. She would want an explanation, and Anakin’s not sure if he’s ready to give one. He’s not sure if he’s ready for her to know about him. “Let me think about it.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan says. “Anything else?”

Yes.

“Two things,” Anakin says. “Can we sleep together? As in, sleeping in the same bed.” There are too many euphemisms in Basic. It gets annoying.

Obi-Wan is quiet, and Anakin wonders if he will refuse. Is it cruel of him to ask?

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says at last, strangely choked. “I would love that.”

He more closely entwines the fingers of their clasped hands, and Anakin cuddles into him.

There is just one more thing. One thing that would make this utterly perfect.

“What’s the other thing?” Obi-Wan asks, right on cue.

Anakin shuts his eyes. It’s embarrassing to ask, but this is Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who loved him without hope or reason. Obi-Wan, who _loves_ him.

He asks. “Will you play with my hair?”

Obi-Wan’s chuckle vibrates through his chest. “Of course I will, dear one.”

Pet names. He forgot to mention pet names.

Then the hand on his waist is gone, and Obi-Wan’s fingers are smoothing through Anakin’s curls, nails scratching pleasantly at his scalp.

Anakin is undone.

“I love you,” he breathes, knowing that this, finally, is the truth. His truth.

Obi-Wan squeezes his hand. “I love you too, Anakin. Thank you.”

“For what?” Anakin mumbles, overcome with pleasure.

“For being you,” Obi-Wan says.

* * *

He never feels a spark. Not for Obi-Wan; not for anyone. And that’s okay.

He still has Obi-Wan, precisely as he wants him, with a few compromises tossed in because he cannot bear to deny Obi-Wan anything. There is kissing. It’s not particularly enjoyable, but it’s okay. He likes the way that kissing makes Obi-Wan melt, so really, it’s better than okay.

He has Ahsoka, and Padmé, and Rex. He has so much love. The dark is still there, sometimes, calling to him; but the light is stronger. He is not alone.

Anakin is happy. Anakin is strong. Anakin is _loved_.

And Anakin _is not broken_.

**Author's Note:**

> How do you guys write in present tense? It's so hard!!
> 
> [Semi-obligatory notes that 1) the legal age of consent in my country is 16; and 2) experiences of asexuality vary, AVEN has many details, r/asexuality has details and memes, etc.]
> 
> So... Ace Anakin. Unsurprisingly, not already a tag. One of those instances where I got the idea in my head, thought it would be a nice challenge, and then could not stop writing. Also one of those instances where what I planned to write this week is not what actually got written. C'est la vie. 
> 
> Oh, and I got Tumblr! Username in my profile, if Tumblr is your thing! :)


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